


Peace is not for us

by LivaWilborg



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio finds Leonardo's workshop in disarray and worries for his friend's safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peace is not for us

Even before Ezio had pulled his hood back, knocked and entered the workshop he had a vague sense of foreboding. The late afternoon sun beat down from a cloudless sky, contend and lazy life happened everywhere in the city and the guards on patrol seemed too idle in the heat to even glance at him. It was all a little unsettling.

The door was unlocked, a habit of Leonardo’s he had tried to persuade the artist to change. Leonardo had often sworn that he would remember it, but had, as far as Ezio knew, never missed a beat in putting it out of his mind.

The moment he set foot in the workshop, the slightly comical sense of foreboding suddenly changed into the certainty that something really was wrong. The atmosphere of the workshop had an unmistakable scent of blood which pounced all of his senses immediately. Ezio shut the door behind him, scanning the work area quickly; the blades at his wrists giving their gentle and familiar click. The spacious, high-ceilinged room appeared devoid of enemies, but there were several signs of disruption in the normal chaos. A wooden model Leonardo had been absorbed in building the last time Ezio had been to visit had been perching in a corner of the room. The contraption was now smashed to kindling, lying scattered on the floor by the cold hearth.

The sun poked its golden afternoon fingers into the silent workshop, caressing the blood on the floor. Someone had tried to mop it up, rather half-heartedly it seemed, and Ezio’s eyes followed the smeared stain from the floor to the tabletop where it had seeped into the cracks in the old wood. Wresting his gaze from the spectacle, he noticed that a pane in the circular window below the eaves had been smashed, scattered bits of broken glass lying on the floor.

With a cold knot in his chest, Ezio made his way into the back rooms. By the door leading into the small yard behind the workshop he spotted a wooden bucket, filled with bloodied rags.   
_Please, Leonardo, don’t be dead..._ he prayed soundlessly as he pushed the last door open. The first thing that caught Ezio’s eyes was the sandaled foot sticking out from under the curtain drawn across the old fashioned bed-niche. Moving quietly he slowly drew the curtain aside, to find Leonardo sprawled on the edge of the bed as though dumped there; he looked pale and both his hands and baggy shirt and trousers were splotched with bloodstains.

Ezio stared; in his mind a desperate and defenceless part of him was still standing by the gallows, helplessly watching his father and brothers die. Retracting the blade at his wrist, he tentatively put a hand on the artist’s chest: “Leonardo...” he whispered.

Ezio felt warmth under his fingers, and a steady, calm heartbeat which suddenly jumped as Leonardo awoke with a start, raising an arm sleepily to protect against the man standing over him. Then he blinked: “Ezio? What-“

“Are you hurt!” Ezio demanded harshly; sudden, violent waves of anger and relief melting together in a strange, conflicted mass of emotions.

Leonardo seemed to give this a few seconds of quizzical thought: “No. Why would you think I would be hurt?” he asked innocently, giving Ezio a sleepy, azure-blue stare. The assassin felt anger winning and closed his fist on a handful of Leonardo’s shirt, pulling the man from the bed: “The blood! And the workshop is in disarray.” he said forcefully.

“But, how... I think I must have slept for an hour at the most.” Confused, Leonardo turned towards the door, Ezio releasing him with an angry frown. The artist gave him a worried glance before hurrying to the workshop, stopping abruptly in the doorway, taking in the scene. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and turned to face Ezio: “It looks like it did when I left it...” he said apologetically.

Ezio took Leonardo by the shoulders and spun him around so he faced the workshop, pointing as he spoke: “Open door! Broken invention! Shattered window! Blood!” He turned the artist again, this time pointing in the direction of the yard: “Bucket of bloody rags!” he stated before turning Leonardo to face him: “And there is blood on your clothes. You know, Leonardo, I hear you described as a genius but...” he finished the sentence with a disbelieving shake of his head.

A slight blush and a grin bloomed on the artist’s face and suddenly Ezio found himself in Leonardo’s tight embrace. The horror that had fuelled his anger slowly dissipated as he put his arms around the man.

“Thank you for worrying about me.” Leonardo said quietly and Ezio felt his friend’s warm lips brush against his neck as he spoke, which sent a secret shiver down his spine. The embrace lingered before Leonardo suddenly stepped back, all signs of tiredness gone and a kind of flame in his eyes: “I’m just sorry you are twenty-four hours and a nap too late. It was glorious, Ezio, I swear, we are the most impressive creatures, the design so perfect!” he said with emphasis and hurried to the work table, collecting a stack of notebooks and scrolls on the way. Unfolding the papers, filled with sketches, he sighed in delight. 

“And to think how depressed I was just yesterda- no, that must have been the day before that, but then-“ he turned to Ezio who approached the table, a hint of smile on his lips: “...they sent a message, that she was dying at the Spedale degli Innocenti and- I mean, not that I wanted the woman to die, obviously!” he hastily added.

“Obviously...” Ezio nodded, expecting the story to make sense as it went along. He looked at Leonardo’s long fingers, the way the man gestured when he spoke, animated, passionate, and wondered briefly if his friend could talk at all if his hands were held.

“But they would only give me twenty-four hours with her, you see, because of the heat, which was really very annoying because of the stiffening of the joints, and I had to have a new instrument made... For the skull.” As he spoke he hurriedly found a box, rattling with surgical instruments, knives, a saw, scissors and pincers in many sizes: “Last time I accidentally damaged the brain, so I designed this tool.” He withdrew a small, curved metal object ending in a bent and sharp semicircle, twirling it happily between his long fingers: “It worked perfectly! Did you know that the brain is actually protected by a layer of... skin, almost. Under the bone-cap. As thin and delicate as the finest vellum you can imagine, and since they reported that she died of a fever of the brain, apparently quite mad, and I found the brain to be almost green and spongy at places-“

“Leonardo-“ Ezio held up a hand to try to silence the man. After so much blood had washed over Ezio’s hands, it wasn’t the thought of damage to the body that made him uneasy, more the idea of gentle Leonardo, golden hair shining in the sunlight, swooning in concentrated delight, being the perpetrator of the damage... There was something very wrong with that image.

“But, that isn’t all.” Leonardo put the strange instrument back in the box and started leafing through the sketches, happily placing some of them on the table for Ezio to see as he continued: “Did you know that the baby didn’t even have bones. Well- of course there were bones, but they were soft, like cartilage, almost porous, and the skull was not a complete structure, but soft and overlapping, allowing, I suppose, for...“ The sentence died on Leonardo’s lips as his gaze met Ezio’s. The sketch he was holding fluttered to the floor.

“She was pregnant?” Ezio asked, feeling the horror seeping into his expression and voice. Leonardo nodded.

“And you cut the child up? After cutting it from its dead mother...”

Again, the artist nodded, suddenly subdued; then he said quietly: “I have the Church’s permission. And they are being buried, probably as we speak. I paid for a good mass to be sung for both of their souls. It’s more than they would have had otherwi-”

“What could you possibly hope to gain by cutting up a dead baby?”

“To satisfy my curiosity- No, please, don’t look at me like that.” Leonardo said, a pleading note in his voice: “I hoped for answers to my questions. And to learn what new questions to ask.”

He paused to give Ezio a hopeful stare: “They said that she died of a fever, and judging from the state of the brain, something was definitely not right, but the fever soothing treatment the dottore was giving her was obviously not working, and knowing this, perhaps he could change his method if he had another patient with the same symptoms. Perhaps the fever was brought on by something that was wrong in her brain and not the other way around.” The hands finished the sentence with a forceful closing motion.

Ezio drew a breath to say something, but Leonardo gestured for him to be silent as he continued: “And supposing a small child was injured, it would be vital to the treatment to know that its physiology was much different than that of an adult. That the very bones had no marrow.”

A frown that approached anger had been painting itself on Leonardo’s brows as he spoke. When the artist paused for breath, Ezio held up his hands: “I underst-“

“No! Hear me!” Leonardo suddenly stabbed a finger at Ezio’s chest, hitting him sharply just above the edge of the armour: “Now, stop looking at me like I’m a fiend from hell, and let’s imagine that you stumble in here with another arrow in your flesh. Then you will probably be happy, that I know exactly where the blood vessels run to better staunch the flow, rather than taking your chances with a dottore in the street who will likely just give you a dose of smelling salts or a quick amputation!”

Too fascinated for anger, Ezio observed as he was being treated to a stare of lightning-blue resentment, the hands now gesturing with force and finality.

“Leonar-“ he started to interject, but was cut short as the artist just raised his voice further:

“And you of all people in God’s creation should be able to appreciate that sometimes the result is desirable, but the road you have to travel to get to the light of truth is dangerous and grim. And I am tired-” he yelled with emphasis: “...So tired, of people wanting things from me with no respect for the necessary process underlying the end result! And may I remind you that you had no objection to my studies when it served to hide the corpse of the guard you killed.” Leonardo yelled and held out a hand: “So, hand it over!” he demanded angrily.

“Hand what ov-“ Ezio began before Leonardo interrupted him: “The codex page! The reason you grace my home with your presence... I appreciate that you worry about me but also that you only do so when you need me. So give me that page. I’m certain there are people out there who are badly in need of a killing, and I don’t want you standing around while I work, judging me in my own h-”

Ezio, unbidden by conscious thought, quickly reached out and grabbed Leonardo’s hands and was surprised to learn that it did indeed shut him up. But instead of trying to pull away, the artist took a confrontational step closer, bringing them nose to nose; the anger radiating from him almost tangible.

They stared at each other for a while; Leonardo’s angry breath feeling hot on Ezio’s face.

“I had no right to judge your methods.” Ezio finally stated with a nod of his head: “You don’t judge mine.”

Leonardo’s eyes narrowed questioningly.

Ezio held his gaze: “I kill people. At least when _you_ bloody your hands you do it to cure and discover.”

The anger slowly began to fade from Leonardo’s eyes, and after a while his shoulders dropped: “You...” he drew a deep breath: “You had a look in your eyes... Revulsion, almost.” he finally said, his voice low: “I thought I had lost you.”

“Never.” Ezio found himself saying, and suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that he was still holding the artist’s hands and wished he had kept his hood up when he entered. Leonardo laughed softly and gently took his hands back: “Never? No conditions?” he asked.

“Eh... One. One condition.”

“What would that be?” Leonardo asked.

“An answer...”

“Yes?”

“Are you a Templar and did you have anything to do with the death of my father and brothers?” Ezio asked gravely.

“Wh-“ Leonardo caught himself: “You are serious.”

Ezio simply answered with something between a nod and a shrug. Leonardo said: “I am not a Templar. I had nothing to do with the death of your family. And I will never willingly do anything to hurt you.” He held out his hands: “Is that good enough?” he asked sincerely.

“Quite. And I won’t bring you any more pages if-“

“No, please. I... What are a few codex pages and a nameless corpse between friends, after all...” Leonardo said.

“...Marrow or no.” Ezio said.

“Well... first, let’s clear the mess. Give me a hand?” Leonardo said, smiling slightly awkwardly and made his way to the fireplace and started tossing the broken pieces of the wooden model on the cold hearth. “Oh, disconnect the treadle fasteners, please, I can probably reuse them.” he sighed, handing a square board to Ezio who just raised an eyebrow.

“I need reusable, un-smashed gears in a pile and all metal components separated from wooden ones. If they can be saved.” Leonardo handed him a prying tool and Ezio accepted, taking a seat in the golden sunlight by the cold hearth next to the artist, sorting through the broken machinery.

“What happened?” Ezio asked after a while, as he pried the various metal parts embedded in the wood loose.

“It worked perfectly on paper. And in my head. But not in reality. So in a childish fit of anger I finally smashed it.” Leonardo stated sadly.

“Perhaps that is for the best.”

“I will get it right one day.”

“Many people make their living weaving cloth. What would they do if it had worked?” Ezio reflected and saw the artist’s eyes widening with a smile: “You actually listened last time? And remembered what it was!” Leonardo stated in happy surprise.

“Of course I did. A loom that needs no weaver is... an interesting idea. I suppose.”

Leonardo started laughing: “I really _do_ forgive you. You have no idea how used I am to people not actually listening. There is this blank expression that-”

Ezio started whistling, giving the appearance of not listening and they both laughed.

“Something like that...” Leonardo chuckled.

They worked for a while in silence. The pile of metal parts growing at Ezio’s feet and the hearth filling for whenever the first chill evening should make its appearance.

“What is next?” Ezio broke the silence.

“Hm?”

“The ship that needs no sailors? The oven that needs no fire?” Ezio asked.

“No.” Leonardo shook his head: “It’s the knife that needs no assassin.”

Ezio gave a short laugh: “Perhaps I’ll become a banker, then...”

“Might not be a bad idea.” the artist grinned, pushing a stray lock of hair away from his face: “I think you would do well in the money lending business. I’m certain people would pay you back on time.” Leonardo tossed the last broken stick in the grate and scooped the metal parts into a box which he placed on a shelf in the crowded workshop.

“You know...” Ezio said quietly: “I sometimes wish-“ he stopped himself and grinned guiltily, shaking his head dismissively.

“...That banking was all life had in store for you. I know. I sometimes wish I could have silence in my thoughts. That there weren’t always questions and ideas and colours, designs, music, movement...”

“Peace is not for us.” Ezio stated and got to his feet.

“Unless we take it by force! ...If only for a short while.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Ezio laughed.

“We will go out and find something to eat and then have some wine and just talk like ordinary people. Not like the assassin and the corpse-cutter. Just get drunk, hear some music, have fun. What do you say? You can even pretend to be a banker, if you like.”

“Leonardo... I can’t.”

“Oh? You have to be off?”

“No, I mean, I don’t drink in public.” Ezio stated and was treated to a long, puzzled stare: “Why...” Leonardo finally asked.

“I’m armed in public. I cannot lose control.”

 One of Leonardo’s eyebrows slowly climbed: “Have you considered being _not_ armed in public?”

Ezio gave a sharp laugh.

“I’ll take that as a no. But fine... We will stay here. There is sun in the yard all afternoon and there is both wine and food here. But!” he held out a hand imperiously, stopping Ezio: “Take off the amour. And all the weapons.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I wonder what makes you assume that?” Leonardo mused as he walked to the door, slender fingers sliding the bolt into the doorframe, locking them in.  He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and gave Ezio an appraising look: “Take it off. This is not public. Besides, what do you do when you sleep? Or have you given up on that? ...Well?”

“Fine...” Ezio said, mumbling something inaudible under his breath, as his fingers worked nimbly at undoing the familiar clasps and buckles holding the complex armour pieces in place. Chest and leg-guards were removed and reluctantly he unbuckled the sword belt and gingerly put the weapon down.

“It’s a good start. Now you are only about thirty-some knives and assorted pointy and otherwise deadly objects away from breakfast.” Leonardo commented.

“It’s almost evening, and I don’t understand why you think this is so important!” Ezio stated as he placed the belt of ammunition pouches in a chair.

“I just need to know if there is still a human under the weight of the armour.” Leonardo said; “I have been wondering about that for a while. And, _please_!” he added, exasperated: “...You just admitted to daydreaming about banking. You need to rest. You don’t have to be in control all the time.” his grin turned into a smirk as the last of the weapon belts were placed in the pile and Ezio reluctantly fingered the bracers with the blades, giving Leonardo a quick look almost as if to ask for mercy. The artist slowly and deliberately shook his head and enjoyed the dirty scowl on the assassin’s face.

“I know... You’ll get even later.” Leonardo laughed and walked closer as Ezio wistfully removed the blades.

“If something happens and I am defenceless-“

“You are never defenceless. And why would anything happen?” Leonardo kicked his sandals off in Ezio’s direction: “Take these. Lose the boots.” he added, casually.

“This is getting ridiculous!” Ezio stated.

“Yes it is! But only because you resist... I’ll go get the food, come help me when you are done.” Leonardo patted Ezio’s shoulder as he walked past and disappeared in the direction of the yard.

Sighing, the assassin sat down and pulled his boots and socks off. He rolled up his shirt-sleeves and loosened the hooded doublet. It wasn’t as if it made any sense clinging to it, when he had already allowed himself to lose the battle.  He pulled the doublet off and then just stood a while in the sun, taking in the chaotic workshop for a moment; the space so intensely ...Leonardo.

Ezio grinned, and shaking himself from his reverie he scooped up the sandals before making his way, barefoot, to the back of the house, a small part of him fighting how much lighter he felt now, just in shirt and pants, than the actual weight of the armour could possibly justify.

Leonardo was walking from the kitchen to the yard, a peach held between his teeth, and carrying a heavy tray of bread, fruit, cheese, almonds and a bowl of olives. Ezio threw the sandals down and took the tray and Leonardo wordlessly disappeared in the direction of the pantry again, hungrily munching the peach. When he returned, he was carrying two cups and a heavy pitcher of wine just as Ezio had pushed the table against the wall that would enjoy sunlight for the longest time.

“Hm, need one more thing...” Leonardo mumbled, as he set the wine down and casually tossed the peach stone over the wall before disappearing into the workshop. When he returned he was carrying a chess-set. A pad of paper was held under his arm and a stick of charcoal for drawing was tucked behind his left ear.

Ezio felt a wolf-grin spread on his face and stood up, blocking Leonardo’s path to his chair.

“What?” the artist asked innocently.

“Put the game down.” Ezio said, receiving a look that lingered somewhere between amusement and caution as Leonardo reached past the assassin to place the game-box carefully on a corner of the table that was unoccupied by food.

“Thank you...” Ezio said and took the paper from the artist and carefully picked the charcoal from his hair.  

“What are you doing?”

Ezio slowly and deliberately rolled the paper around the stick of charcoal and deftly flung the bundle onto a balcony, belonging to an adjacent house, overlooking the small yard. Then he wiped the coal dust off his fingers on the chest of Leonardo’s shirt: “If I cannot be armed, neither can you...” he said smilingly and sat down, pouring the wine.

“But... Wh-“ Leonardo gestured to the balcony: “That was paper and coal. Not a weapon.”

“In your hands, it is!” Ezio held out a cup of wine and Leonardo took it, his expression sour before a grin broke through: “That was faster vengeance than I expected...” he mused.

“So, now that we are both defenceless, what do these pretend peaceful people of yours do?” Ezio asked.

“Well, they don’t sketch, apparently...” Leonardo said and started eating hungrily: “I haven’t had any food since... before the loom was smashed. That’s almost... two days.” he said between mouthfuls.

“What would you be? If you had your silence?” Ezio asked, piling a slice of bread high with cheese.

“My father is a notary but he owns several mills and vineyards; I think... I would be an administrator of his business or become a notary like him. Watching as people fill out important property documents.” He yawned and then laughed. “What is the opposite of fascination?”

“It’s supposed to be peaceful, not interesting.” Ezio reproached.

“Maybe then I could be a glorified miller myself at some point.” Leonardo took a generous swig of wine: “But then again, my brothers might have something to say about that eventually, considering the whole inheritance aspect of the case... so perhaps I’d settle for administration.”

“You have brothers?” Ezio asked, the question sounding almost incredulous.

Leonardo grinned: “I have brothers, well half-brothers anyway, and I write my mother every Sunday. Did you think I just suddenly came into existence as a grown man in a workshop one sunny day in Firenze?”

“Yes, I sort of did.” Ezio stated after a moment’s thought.

Leonardo laughed: “When I was... I think it was fairly soon after I moved to my father’s house, so I must have been about six years old... It was at the feast of San Giovanni Battista, bright, living summer. And my father had employed this woman from one of the Germanic states up north, as a cook.” he said, gesturing with his wine cup. Ezio nodded, observing him.

“She had baked this cake... or maybe it wasn’t really baked. I don’t know. It was like a collection of light, sweet clouds, not the heavy bread-like cakes you normally get, and layered with a thick sauce of sweet berries and fresh cream. And it was decorated with slightly sour berries and new lemon balm leaves and drops of golden honey. I stole it from the table, and smuggled it off to a secret corner of the garden and ate all of it slowly and meticulously. It looked beautiful. It smelled beautiful. It was probably the most fantastic cake that was ever created.” Leonardo stated with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Cake, eh?” Ezio commented, slightly mystified.

“That cake is my best memory of something that was mine. Truly mine. I never told anyone before...” the artist said, and then added laughingly: “But really I’m just telling you now, to try to prove that I existed before I met you.”

“Consider it proven and true as cake.”

“Perhaps _you_ didn’t exist before I met you. Hm?” Leonardo challenged, an eyebrow raised.

Chewing the last of the piece of bread, Ezio seemed to consider this.

“When my sister was born, I was very little.” he finally said. “And whatever attention she got was not a problem because she was... well, wearing a dress. There were obviously different rules for her. But Petruccio... He was born when I was five and I hated him.” he stated evenly. “I hated him intensely.” Ezio looked up to find Leonardo’s razor-sharp, azure attention completely focused on him, a half peeled and forgotten orange in his hands.

“One night, I pretended to sleep, but when all was quiet I crept in and stole my little brother from his cradle and put him in a bag. He was still in swaddling clothes, so he was easy enough to handle. And then I crawled through the window and onto the roof, carrying him with me.” Ezio continued.

“Then, when I was on the roof, I opened the bag and just stood there with him. He was almost silent. Not screaming at all. ...And no; I have no idea why I did it.” he said in answer to a curious unspoken question from Leonardo in the form of an almost imperceptible inclination of the head.

“I really have no idea. And I don’t remember if I actually planned on throwing him off the roof. I don’t know.” he gave a little laugh and shook his head at the memory.

“...What happened?” Leonardo finally asked.

“Nothing. We just sat on the roof until it was almost dawn and the birds started singing. I remember it as though he slept most of the time. Then we crawled down again and I put him back in the cradle before anyone knew.” Ezio said and leaned back in his chair, almost a little embarrassed under the intensity of Leonardo’s scrutiny. “But after that, I started to care about him.” he added as an afterthought.

“Fine, then...” Leonardo finally stated: “I accept your independent existence.”

“I’m glad we got that settled.”

A friendly silence fell between them and they sat picking at the food, drinking the wine and soaking up the late afternoon sun, each serenely confined to his own thoughts for a long while.

The sounds of the city changed subtly around them.  The church bells tolled evening. Children were called home for supper. Stray dogs barked. There were sounds of groups talking as they walked to evening mass or into the city for a good time and ladies, whose affections were for sale, sailed through the streets, calling out their prices as the sun dyed the golden clouds above a rich pink.

“There is time for a quick game, before it gets time for lamp light...” Leonardo finally said, pushing the chess set towards Ezio with a finger. The assassin nodded, and as they quickly collaborated on setting up the game board he noticed how the last rays of sunlight touched Leonardo’s hair, almost painting a golden saint’s halo around his face. The artist gave him a sudden sharp look, as though he had somehow read the stray thought.

“Nothing.” Ezio shook his head.

“Something!” Leonardo demanded.

“You are going to lose.”

“No. You are. But don’t be ashamed. I am quite a genius, as you know.”

“It’s only other people who say that. Not me. And let’s keep in mind; I actually know you...” Ezio said, opening the game.

“Other people I haven’t beaten repeatedly at this game seem to have a lot more sense than you...”

The two armies closed furiously on each other, seemingly eager for bloodshed. The time between each move was short; both generals gazing at the sky often to gage the waning light, in a sudden sense of urgency that the game had to be finished before the sun sank below street level.

“What is your strategy supposed to be!” Leonardo said, frustrated, after a while.

“Strategy?” Ezio laughed, his white bishop flitting across the board: “Why is your bed not filled with beautiful women?” he asked, and had to restrain himself from laughing loudly when Leonardo’s knight did a bizarre little jig on the game board: “Wh- ...I-“ the artist said, flustered, before catching himself: “Oh no! It isn’t going to be that easy.” The knight made a threatening move towards the white king.

“I mean...” Ezio said, seemingly picking up a piece at random; a pawn hurrying across the field: “It doesn’t make any sense. You are good-looking, charming, not to mention not poor.”

“Is distraction really the limit of your tactical ambitions?” Leonardo gave him a quick, severe look before turning his attention to the game board as the shadows that had been creeping in on them reached the tabletop.

“I’m just making conversation. Like ordinary, peaceful people.”

The last moves were done intensely and in silence and the small yard was left in the clutches of purple shadows when the white king finally fell, both armies brutally decimated, both players straining their eyes in the gathering gloom.

“Yes!” Leonardo exclaimed excitedly, snatching up the fallen white king and jumping to his feet: “What was that strategy? It was quite an interesting game this time.”

“It was the slightly-tipsy-moving-my-pieces strategy.” Ezio said and got up, packing the game pieces back in the box. He paused and looked at Leonardo in the blue darkness. He was standing quite close with a strange expression on his face. He lifted his hand, the white king resting in his palm.

Ezio slowly reached out for the game piece and Leonardo took a step backward, holding Ezio’s gaze and shaking his head.

“The game is over. I lost.” Ezio laughed and made a grab for the game piece. Leonardo quickly tossed it into the air to keep it from capture, and expertly caught the king again before Ezio could snatch it from him, as he took another step back towards the door to the workshop.

Telling himself that it was too dark for him to interpret Leonardo’s expression, and fighting the way his pulse suddenly jumped into a quick drumbeat for no discernible reason, Ezio quickly moved towards Leonardo to end the game. With an elegant, silent movement the artist evaded the attack, reaching the shadows of the doorway, his fiery eyes now seeming dark as ink.

Ezio gave a surprised laugh, and then held out his hands as he advanced, ready to react when taking the king back was going to become an option. He unhurriedly closed in on Leonardo, who retreated warily into the house.  The artist finally came to a stop against the heavy workshop table and held out the game piece like a lure or a beacon, a lighter spot in the gloom.

Ezio very slowly reached out for the white king; puzzled, excited and uncertain, but Leonardo’s fingers closed over the painted monarch: “Is it really true?” he asked, in a muted voice.

“Is what true?” Ezio responded.

“That I won’t risk losing you?”

“Yes.” Ezio nodded and took a hold of Leonardo’s wrist with one hand, the other slowly curling around the fingers holding the game piece.

Leonardo reached out his free hand and rested his fingertips on Ezio’s throat, in the hollow curve just below the jaw line. The traitor pulse jumped further, and Ezio felt Leonardo’s smile, more than he saw it, as the artist leaned closer, gently pushing the assassin around so that Ezio found himself the one leaning against the table. 

 “What are you doing?” Ezio asked softly and in the gloom, the artist smiled: “I’m moving my pieces.” he whispered: “But only if you allow it. Say no, and we will blame the wine and forget all about it.” He leaned closer, again bringing them nose to nose, and Ezio sucked in his breath audibly as the warm tip of Leonardo’s tongue gently touched the scar on his lips before he moved on to kiss his chin and neck.

“Leonardo...” he whispered breathlessly.

The artist’s fingers wandered to caress the back of the assassin’s neck as he pressed closer and the warm kisses to Ezio’s ear sent waves of heat pulsing through his body.

“I...” Ezio started, his grip tightening around Leonardo’s wrist and fingers, and he felt the artist’s small gasp of pain as cool air against his skin.

“You are saying no.” Leonardo whispered, leaning his brow against Ezio’s shoulder with a heavy sigh before making a move to withdraw.

“No. I mean... I don’t know.” Ezio stopped trying to open Leonardo’s fingers, his hand instead hesitantly coming to rest on the artist’s chest, fingering the neck-opening of his shirt: “It’s just... I’m not sure what-”

Leonardo stopped the sentence by brushing his lips against Ezio’s: “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” he said slowly.

Another kiss followed: “You don’t have to be on your guard against me. I will never hurt you.” The next kiss was deeper, their tongues touching. “And you don’t have to be in control.” he whispered and his fingers released the chess piece. Ezio took it, and felt Leonardo’s smile against his lips as he tossed the king over his shoulder, into the darkness of the workshop and gave in to the touches and kisses. He let Leonardo remove his shirt and eagerly reciprocated.

There was a strange thrill at the sensation of the other man’s warm skin against his and his fingers curled into the artist’s hair when Leonardo’s kisses reached the drawstring of his pants; and he quickly stood naked and learned that Leonardo’s teeth were sharp but his tongue was gentle and extremely knowledgeable.

Ezio felt a disappointed moan of “No.” escape his throat when Leonardo after a while got to his feet before him, teasing him with kisses, and nudging him gently up on the table,  pushing him down to lie on his back on the rough tabletop. Leonardo climbed up, straddling Ezio who suddenly found his fingers hurriedly undoing the artist’s belt. He felt the weight on him shift as Leonardo sucked in his breath in pleasure at his touch and leaned down over him, kissing and licking his lips: “So perfect. So miraculous.” Leonardo gasped.

Somewhere in the back of Ezio’s mind, he was reminded that this were possibly the same words Leonardo could have used about the corpse that had been stretched out on this very tabletop just hours before, but the thought vanished completely when the artist’s slender fingers wandered down his chest and stomach to return the favour, caressing and stroking expertly.

There was only their excited breathing, each man feeling the other’s frantic pulse, until Leonardo softly took Ezio’s hands: “Please.” he begged: “Not yet. Please.” And he moved to the side, pulling the assassin up to sit on his knees on the table.

Ezio felt surprised to learn, that he had no objections when Leonardo put his arms around him from behind, pushing his head gently back on his shoulder and stealing a kiss as his hand worked tenderly: “May I?” Leonardo whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. Ezio just nodded and buried a hand in the artist’s hair; leaning back against him.

He expected some degree of pain or humiliation or shame, but his expectations were washed away in a heated wave of pleasure, emotion and sensation. The feeling of trusting someone enough for this to even be possible, the feeling of a body strong enough to hold him working against his, Leonardo’s trimmed beard brushing against the skin of his shoulder, the smell of the blood in the cracks on the table and the sweat on their bodies, the sounds of their ragged, urgent breathing, the taste of Leonardo’s kisses on his lips...

He climaxed with a violence he had never experienced before, and felt Leonardo following, their bodies working furiously together, a snarl of pleasured pain escaping Ezio’s lips when the artist bit his shoulder in the passionate battle.

They lay on their knees together for a long while, intertwined and slowly caressing, as their bodies calmed down. When Leonardo finally withdrew, they lay down on the table, facing each other in the darkness, their hands languidly wandering.

“That was...” Leonardo started dreamily and stopped again, edging closer for a kiss. After a while, the artist asked: “Would you like to go to bed?”

“Are you flirting with me?” Ezio asked, and they burst out laughing.

“Assassin beats cake. I think you just replaced my favourite memory.” Leonardo whispered happily, and pulled Ezio with him to the bedroom.


	2. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the stress relief...

Whatever it was that imbued the waking Leonardo with the energy that couldn’t let his hands and mind rest, it had apparently simply stepped out of the body, leaving a barely breathing husk. Only the fingertips Ezio rested against Leonardo’s chest allowed him to feel the soft breath, convincing him that the sleeping artist was still among the living.

It seemed almost impossible that it was only a few hours since he had found Leonardo slumped on the bed, looking like a dead man. The horror Ezio had felt then was now a vague and distant memory, washed away by other violent emotions and finally drowned in the physically exhausted and contented quiet that had reigned between them as they crawled to bed together.

The nakedness shared under the blanket painted a wide, incredulous grin on Ezio’s lips in the dark as he pressed against Leonardo’s back and breathed in his smell. Warm. Male. A hint of something sharp: the odd alchemical mix of the oils and pigments, blood and metal from the workshop.

Ezio wasn’t certain how long he had been listening to the subdued night soundscape of the city, staring into the summer darkness in the enclosure of the bed-niche, when he finally realised that his mind was leaping happily from thought to thought and that he would not be sleeping any time soon.

Trying not to wake Leonardo, he slowly and carefully dislodged himself from the embrace and soundlessly crawled from the bed, feeling the cool clay tiles of the floor under his feet. He thought he’d made his escape when he heard Leonardo’s sleepy whisper: “Are you leaving?”

“No. Just for a moment.” Ezio said gently and reached down to touch the artist’s shoulder. “Mm.” Leonardo commented and promptly went back to nigh-immobile sleep.

Ezio grinned in the darkness as he softly padded to the door, picking up an unlit lantern from the bedside table before going back to the workshop in search of his pants. When he found them, he dressed and then slowly gathered his shirt and Leonardo’s clothes, intending to bring them to the bedroom to reduce the chaos to the workshop. He felt surprised when a rush of warmth through his body informed him that Leonardo with his clothes out of reach was a lot more interesting than being a good guest. The bundle of clothes was left on the tabletop.

Eyes adapted to the darkness he slowly made his way around the work area, scanning the floor, hoping against hope to spot a light in the dark.

The white king had skipped and rolled across furniture and canvasses and boxes and scrolls to land, incredibly, next to Ezio’s boots. He gingerly picked it up, enjoying the symbolism and envisioning the possibilities inherent in keeping the small chess monarch. He hoped Leonardo wouldn’t remember the game piece until after he had gone and would shrug its disappearance off; it would be interesting to keep for later. Mind aflame with possible scenarios, Ezio put the small king in one of the ammunition pouches in his belt, left in a chair earlier.

Drawing a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief at how natural this novel turn of events felt, he picked up the lantern and made his way into the yard.

The door was open.

The realization hit him like a splash of icy water. Anyone could have walked in on them, considering that the door to the street probably wasn’t even locked and how laughably simple it was to scale the wall.  

Angry at himself for having let control slip, he stood in the moonlit yard, a cool breeze playing against his skin as the argument of risks and precautions and what-he-should-have-dones played out in his mind. He sighed. He hadn’t even brought a weapon to the bedroom. And while he felt confident that he would be able to handle most attacks in close quarters unarmed, Leonardo would most likely get hurt if he were caught in the middle of...

His thoughts left this angry, self-admonishing discussion and jumped to a visit about a year ago when he had found Leonardo almost in tears because a cat, that wasn’t even his, had rolled up and died of old age in the workshop. Ezio seriously doubted that the artist would be any kind of help in a fight, probably more the opposite.

It suddenly felt as though an old, frozen pain snapped and broke and dissolved in his chest and he let out a long sigh.

“Leonardo would be useless in a fight!” he whispered under his breath, as the happiness reclaimed its position at the forefront of his consciousness. He felt grateful that nothing bad had happened and that Leonardo had never been forced to wield a knife at anyone whose heart still beat. And the further realisation that he had somehow managed to secure a special access to the artist’s gentleness, made Ezio grin in the darkness.

With renewed vigour he put the lantern down and took one of the chairs at the table, jumping off it to reach the high ledge of the balcony overlooking the yard. He pulled himself up and retrieved the rolled up bundle of paper and charcoal he had tossed up there earlier in the evening, before dropping soundlessly back down. 

He tested the door to the street, surprised at finding it locked. Everything was quiet and deserted when he quickly scaled the wall to steal a flame for his lantern from one of the braziers illuminating the street.

Back in the workshop, door firmly bolted behind him, he lit his way to the pile of weapons, bringing a dagger with him; the paper and coal held under his arm.

In the bedroom, the lantern was placed on a hook in the roof beam of the bed-niche and the paper by Leonardo’s pillow. The artist slowly stirred and half sat up, an apprehensive, sleepy frown on his face as he rubbed his eyes: “Something wrong?” he asked, anxious, as Ezio crawled past him, retaking his place in the bed, resolutely placing the weapon within reach.

“Nothing is wrong. I just wanted light.” Ezio said softly, resting on his side, his head in his hand and pushing Leonardo gently back down on the pillow.

The artist bounced back up, fully awake now: “Why the weapon, then?”  he asked, eyes fixed on the dagger.

Ezio gave a laugh and pushed Leonardo back: “I just realised that I was wrong earlier.”

Leonardo sat back up, the worried frown deepening: “Wrong about what?” he asked quietly.

“About thinking peace was out of our reach. ...Or that it’s the opposite of interesting.” Ezio replied, pushing Leonardo back again, this time moving closer to pin the artist down with a hand resting on his chest.

Leonardo finally relaxed, giving him a wistful stare: “And peace is the same as having weapons close by?”

“No. Peace is about... finding a way to live without denying your nature.” Ezio said slowly. “I don’t think you could have peace as a notary or administrator. Or without _your_ weapons.” He reached over and tapped the paper by the pillow.

The smile slowly spreading on Leonardo’s lips made him look like one of his painted angels in the pale golden candle light. He tentatively reached out and let his fingers caress Ezio’s face, running along the stubble on his jaw: “People very rarely surprise me. But every time I think I have... unriddled you, you do something like this.” he said gently.

“Unriddle?” Ezio laughed. “I think I’m the only one here with the right to be surprised...”

Leonardo nodded: “Are you-“ he caught himself and shook his head as though to dismiss a thought. Then he rolled onto his side too, so that they faced each other in the flickering light and gave Ezio a merciless stare: “Would you change what happened, if you could?” he asked bluntly.

“No.” Ezio simply stated, calmly holding Leonardo’s gaze.

The artist’s posture had seemed calm, but his shoulders relaxed visibly at the reply.

“But I don’t know what will happen now.” Ezio said: “If you were not a man and if you were not my friend, I would be on firmer ground.”

Leonardo grinned. “Well...” He gathered some pillows scattered around the bed to lean more comfortably on: “I suppose the first question will be if we wish to acknowledge that this happened? Or if we want to pretend it didn’t?”

Ezio gave him a puzzled stare: “But it did happen.” he stated.

Leonardo smirked, satisfied, and Ezio felt the artist’s gaze wander over his skin: “It happened.” Leonardo said. Then he asked: “Do we intend for it to happen again? Or do we wish to leave it at this. One night.”

“Why would we keep it at one night?” Ezio asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

“To...” Leonardo stopped himself and seemed to cast about in his mind for the proper explanation, finally giving a laugh: “Maybe in thinking it would protect our friendship.”

“We would always just fret in our minds about what we might have missed.” Ezio stated and his fingers took pleasure in exploring well-defined muscles under warm, unscarred skin: “I don’t see how this lessens our friendship.” he added casually.

“I believe that is very a judicious assessment...” Leonardo commented breathlessly and reached out to pull the assassin closer on his stack of pillows.

Ezio‘s hand wandered to Leonardo’s hips, fingering the blanket covering him: “I have a question.” he asked between the artist’s teasing kisses.

“Mhm?” Leonardo whispered and gently bit Ezio’s shoulder.

“Why now; why not when we met?” he asked and was surprised when Leonardo slowly moved back, creating distance between them. There was a sudden apprehensive look on the artist’s face that marred the intimacy built up between them and an undecipherable question in his gaze.

“I don’t understand.” Ezio said gently: “What did I just do to earn that look?”

“...I’m sorry.” Leonardo finally replied, averting his eyes: “I thought... I don’t know what I thought.” He shook his head and slowly leaned closer again: “The year we met, you obviously had your hands very full. 1476 was just not a very blessed year for either of us.” He grinned suddenly, despite himself: “I apologise for the odd reaction.”

“You already answered the important question earlier. I don’t want your secrets until you want to tell them to me.” Ezio said and Leonardo slowly leaned closer again, the closeness between them gradually re-establishing itself.

“I will tell you. But not now. It’s depressing.” Leonardo rolled onto his back pulling Ezio with him, and the assassin felt his smile as their lips met warmly.

“Actually...” Leonardo finally mumbled breathlessly “When we met, I thought you were very handsome.” he smiled: “And quite appealing.” He started laughing: “...And rather dim.”

“That’s interesting...” Ezio whispered smilingly. “Because I thought that you were just my mother’s tame new art-monkey.”

“...Tame new art-monkey?” Leonardo laughed.

 

 o-O-o

 

In the grey pre-dawn light, Leonardo finally put his sketching paper away. They were mostly studies. Ezio’s hand as it rested on the pillow, calloused by years of wielding weapons. The curves of iron-lean muscles in his arms and the glow of the candlelight off his skin. Finally he had moved on to the peaceful half-smile lurking on the assassin’s lips and the drawing had blossomed from there. It would be very good, once he had the light to fill in the details with greater accuracy. He gently ran his fingers through the assassin’s hair, then, smiling, he wrote the title on the sketch: _The Angel of Vengeance, asleep in my bed_.


End file.
